Genevieve, having earlier today sent word to Charles Brooks that she had decided to attend Lady Hammond’s ball rather than join him for a private dinner, had been fully aware of having Lucifer’s dark gaze upon her since his arrival at the ball an hour or so earlier. Reason enough, she had considered, to encourage and accept Charles Brooks’s attentions when he had arrived immediately after Lucifer and instantly made his way to her side before commencing to flirt with her outrageously.
A flirtatiousness Lucifer did not in the least appreciate, if the tight clenching of his jaw, and the dark glitter of his eyes as he continued to observe Genevieve beneath hooded lids, was any indication.
Genevieve had not felt so giddy with excitement for years. If ever …
Josiah Forster, a man almost forty years her senior, had offered for Genevieve halfway through her first Season, an offer which her brother had been only too pleased to accept on her behalf. The man was a duke and Genevieve would become his duchess, Colin had argued when she had protested at the idea of marrying a man so much older than herself.
It had been a fairytale wedding, with all of the ton there to witness the union. And if Genevieve had quaked in her satin slippers at thoughts of becoming the wife of the elderly and obese Duke of Woollerton, no one would have guessed it as she floated down the aisle, a vision in satin and lace, nor at the wedding supper later, as she had stood at the duke’s side, smiling and greeting their guests.
It had only been later that evening, during the carriage ride to the Woollerton estate in Gloucestershire, that Genevieve’s nerves had got the better of her at thoughts of the night ahead.
A night which had been every bit, and more, the nightmare Genevieve had feared it might be, Josiah making no allowances either for her youth or her lack of experience.
She shuddered now just at the memory of the horrors she had suffered that night, and that had only been the start of those fearful years of incarceration as Josiah Forster’s wife.
A prison Genevieve had only escaped upon his death.
Consequently this was the first London Season that Genevieve had been allowed to enjoy for seven years. And, as such, she intended to enjoy every moment of it!
And how better to do so than to know that the attentions of the handsome, blond-haired and blue-eyed Charles Brooks, whilst flattering in themselves, were made even more so because they obviously irritated the usually disdainfully detached, black-haired and black-eyed and enticingly wicked Lucifer?
It was heady stuff indeed to be the centre of attention of two such handsome gentlemen after so many years of being secluded away in rural Gloucestershire. Her husband had supervised her time and pursuits with the intensity of a hawk about to swoop on its unsuspecting prey, with the administration of suitable punishment if she did not do exactly as he wished.
Even now Genevieve could not repress the shiver of revulsion at the memory of Josiah’s treatment of her on their wedding night. She shut down those thoughts immediately as she determinedly returned her attention to the more welcome attentions of Charles Brooks. His fingers lingered overlong against her gloved hand as he handed her one of the glasses of champagne he had just acquired for the two of them.
‘To us, my dear Genevieve.’ His eyes gleamed down at her appreciatively as he gently touched his glass against her own.
‘A wholly inappropriate sentiment, Sandhurst,’ Benedict Lucas drawled dismissively even as he plucked the champagne glass from Genevieve’s gloved fingers before turning to place it on the silver tray carried by one of Lady Hammond’s footmen, with a muttered comment for him to ‘dispose of this’. ‘Our dance, I believe, Genevieve?’ He looked down the length of his nose at her, arrogant brows raised over eyes that gleamed with challenge.
To say Genevieve was astounded by his interruption would be putting it mildly. And she was furious at Lucifer’s highhandedness in removing her glass of champagne in that peremptory manner, so much so that she seriously considered refusing to go along with his fabrication; he had not so much as attempted to even greet her this evening, so how could he possibly claim this as being ‘their dance’!
Benedict, having easily read the light of battle which had appeared in Genevieve’s expressive blue eyes, now took a firm hold of her arm before striding determinedly away from the other man.
A move she certainly did not approve of as she tried to free herself from the firmness of his grasp. ‘How dare you, Lucas!’
‘I dare because Sandhurst had introduced a little concoction of his own to your champagne in order to make you more … compliant to his advances,’ he muttered disgustedly as he continued to walk in the direction of the ballroom.
Her arm stiffened beneath his hand, her face paling as she glanced back to where Sandhurst stood glowering after them. ‘What did you say …?’
Benedict spared her an impatient glance between narrowed lids. ‘A mere “thank you for your timely rescue, my lord” will do.’
‘You are talking utter nonsense.’ She eyed him impatiently as she was forced to take two steps to his one in order to avoid tripping and falling.
‘Am I?’ He gave a derisive shake of his head.
‘Of course you are.’ Her cheeks now bore an angry flush. ‘Just because I so obviously prefer the attentions of a gallant gentleman such as Sandhurst is no reason—’ She broke off her tirade as it was met with a disparaging snort from Benedict. ‘It is obvious from your behaviour that you are not a gentleman at all!’
‘And you, my dear Genevieve, have tonight proved that you are a mere babe in arms when it comes to men such as Sandhurst,’ he assured grimly. ‘Once the champagne had been consumed and the effects of the concoction had reached their desired effect, you would then have found yourself more than willing, indeed eager, to retire somewhere more private for whatever debauchery Sandhurst had in mind for the two of you this evening!’
She gasped. ‘You are merely saying these wicked things about Sandhurst in order to alarm me! Or, more probably, in an effort to make me think more highly of you,’ she added with dismissive disdain.
Benedict’s mouth firmed. ‘I very much doubt it is possible for you to think any less of me!’
‘And I am sure that I might manage it somehow!’ Her eyes sparkled with her anger.
He gave a humourless smile. ‘No doubt.’
She nodded, red curls bouncing against her nape. ‘And how would you even know about such “concoctions”, if you were not familiar with or had used them yourself?’
Benedict’s breath left him in a hiss, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw as he came to an abrupt halt in the cavernous hallway of Lady Hammond’s London home before turning to face the infuriated Genevieve. ‘I assure you, madam, I have never needed to use such underhand practices as that in order to persuade a woman into sharing my bed!’
Her little pointed chin was raised stubbornly as she met the dangerous glitter of his dark gaze. ‘And why should you think Sandhurst might, when he—’
‘Is in possession of the handsomeness of a Greek god,’ Benedict completed disgustedly. ‘I agree with you, Genevieve, he should not need to do so. Unfortunately, your Greek god has grown weary of the chase, and those flowers and chocolates you received earlier today would have been his first and last “gallant” gesture. Sandhurst now prefers that his courtship be less … protracted and the woman willing to bed him as quickly as possible, along with any number of his less savoury friends, so that he might watch and so add to his own entertainment.’
Genevieve’s gaze wavered uncertainly at this graphic description of debauchery. Could Benedict Lucas—Lucifer—be telling her the truth? Had Sandhurst really put something in her champagne in order to render her willing to do unspeakable things, with both him and his friends? It sounded highly unlikely to her innocent ears, but at the same time